


The Sleeping Prince

by FallenAngelFreddie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, Friendship, fairytale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 18:45:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4447523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenAngelFreddie/pseuds/FallenAngelFreddie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He came in the middle. He knew not what he saw, only that he was. Vision tells his version of the story of the events surrounding his creation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sleeping Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This story was inspired by the scenes immediately prior to Vision’s birth. As I was watching Age of Ultron, I thought to myself: “what if the being that’s forming in the Cradle could actually remember what was going on around him? How would he remember it?” Given Vision’s childlike qualities, I decided to write a fairytale-esque story that takes place during that time. Completely and unashamedly Movieverse. Feedback very much appreciated! Enjoy!  
> Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.

The Sleeping Prince

 

There once was a tiny spirit, shapeless yet present and full of life, like a thousand rays of sunlight passing through a crystal sea. He remembered nothing, only that he was suddenly drawn into being, like a blanket taking shape as it is being woven. He found he had eyes to see and ears to hear, but no form to touch, left drifting in the moments even as he was tethered to one in the making. He came in the middle. He knew not what he saw, only that he was.

He saw before him a large casket, no, a “Cradle,” they called it, and four strange beings huddled around it. There was a silver behemoth of a man with curled horns like a goat on the sides of his face and the grip of chains. He saw the creature and the little spirit knew fear. Beside him was a white-coated mage, her raven hair soft like a bird’s molting feathers. There was also a man with white hair and gifted with the speed of the angels, but he had no wings. Lastly, there was the Red Princess, her hair like dark rose petals and skin like the dust of a falling star. He saw her and the little spirit knew wonder.

“He is dreaming,” said the Red Princess fondly, letting her hand touch the side of the Cradle tenderly. It was then that the little spirit realized there was something coming to life inside of it, something old, dormant, sleeping, yet powerful. He was drawn to that being, floating curiously above, until a startled scream shook him away and he curled in on himself in fright.

“What evil is this?” cried the beautiful voice in anguish as the Silver Goat laughed. His eyes were like the flames of a dying sun, hollow and lifeless. The Silver Goat did not care. The White Mage did not see. The Gray Angel could not act. The Red Princess could not look away.

“What is evil?” asked the little spirit, finding for the first time that he had a voice. Startled, the Red Princess searched for his presence and when she finally found him, the little spirit laughed and said, “Here I am!”

“I will show you evil,” said the Princess and the little spirit cried out in terror as images crossed his eyes from her mind, or more rightly, the mind of the Sleeping Prince. He saw fire and rubble and explosions and pain. There was so much destruction. The little spirit curled away from the images but not from her touch as only she could touch him.

“I do not wish to see evil,” said the spirit.

“Oh, but you will,” said the Princess, “and this being, the Sleeping Prince, will be the hand that brings this evil upon us.”

“Then he must be stopped,” said the spirit, “but I am still drawn to him. Why am I drawn to evil? Does that make me evil too?”

“No,” said the Princess softly and the little spirit felt the warmth of her presence comforting him. “But you can save the Sleeping Prince. You are bound to him. Therefore, only you can change the mind of this creation by becoming his heart.”

“What must I do?” asked the little spirit eagerly. “I do not wish to see the Prince become evil.” At this the Red Princess smiled and the little spirit knew joy.

“You are right to say ‘become evil’ because he is not evil in himself,” said the Princess. “He is old, and has been slumbering since long before the first star’s light broke through the night of this galaxy. He is as wise as he is powerful, but in knowing everything he knows less than he thinks. His presumed strength will be his downfall.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is one thing to know, another to feel. Stay with him, little spirit. You will know what to do!” she told him as the room erupted into fighting and chaos. His surroundings faded away into darkness and she along with it. Only little spirit remained with the slumbering ancient growing stronger in the Cradle.

“But – I know nothing!” he cried helplessly. He only felt confused.

Suddenly, the spirit was no longer alone with the forming body. Where there was once darkness, there was now something worse. The Silver Goat loomed over them both, clutching the side of the Cradle with his grip of chains. The Prince slept on, unaware of the deep evil being poured inside of him while the little spirit was powerless to stop it.

“Get away!” he shouted angrily. “I will not let you have him, foul Silver Goat!”

At this, the Silver Goat growled and reached out to crush the little spirit, but the spirit had no form and could not be so easily caught. The Silver Goat could not touch him. The spirit stayed with the Cradle and he knew loyalty.

Soon, the Silver Goat disappeared as the Cradle, and the Prince within it, was claimed by a new face in the belly of a powerful bird. Tethered to the Prince’s cocoon, the little spirit watched as the Black Spider fell. The Archer cried out in worry, but duty called him away. The little spirit shared in his sorrow and he knew compassion.

“Will you wake soon, Mr. Prince?” asked the little spirit, peering through the sheets of metal to catch a glimpse of his comatose charge. “Are you afraid? For all of your power, you are quite helpless on your own. But do not worry; I am here with you. I will watch over you, just as the Red Princess directed me.”

The spirit looked on in awe at the chiseled features of the Prince, a silver crown fitted with a shimmering jewel adorning his forehead. The little spirit knew curiosity and reached out to touch it.

“Don’t!” cried the Archer. “It will destroy you, little one, who knows nothing of the world.”

“Will knowledge hurt me?” asked the spirit. “It cannot be bad to know, can it?”

“No, it is not bad to know, but this being has grown cold, made up only of knowledge, things of the mind. One as young and bright and warm as you will be frozen by all he knows, as old and dim and cold as he is.”

“I see,” said the little spirit. He withdrew the warmth of his shapeless light from the Cradle and the little spirit knew sadness.

The spirit was shaken as the world suddenly exploded around him. So many angry voices, so much chaos. At the center of it all was the Cradle where the Prince slept, growing increasingly ill at ease in his coming awareness. The Prince jerked as the energy that had been keeping him alive until then was torn away from him, torn away from them both. They were separated and it was as if a hole was ripped in the fabric of the little spirit’s being. The loss of the connection crippled him, but a sense of purpose drove him on and the little spirit knew perseverance.

“No, you are dying! I cannot let you die!” cried the little spirit. “The Red Princess says you are not evil, but the Archer says you will kill me. The Red Princess says you will bring about destruction if I do not stop you, but I cannot touch you! What must I do? _What must I do?_ ”

There were so many people around him, the Red Princess, the Gray Angel, the Archer, and others, all strange and new to him, all staring at him and yet not seeing him. He knew they could not hear him, but that did not stop him from trying to reach them anyway.

“Help me!” he called. “I do not know what to do! I do not know what to do! I am frightened and unsure!”

He shouted, but no one heard him. In this moment he was alone, disconnected from everyone and everything including the Prince that lay dying with each second that passed. Not even the Red Princess could help him now. He would fail his task. The Sleeping Prince would never wake and it was all because he knew nothing and felt everything. The little spirit knew defeat.

Then, he realized that he did know something the Sleeping Prince did not. He knew fear, and joy, and wonder and loyalty, compassion and sadness, confusion and warmth, defeat and now hope. If something as young and small as he could know these things, the Prince in all his age and great size could know them too.

“I will become your heart, O Sleeping Prince,” said the little spirit, “if you will have me. Though it be small, it shall be warm. Though it be mine, it shall be yours.”

In spite of the Archer’s warning, the little spirit reached out and touched his light to the Prince’s empty chest and the little spirit knew courage. He did this just as the hand of lightning bore down on the Cradle and the two were merged into one, spirit and body, young and old, warmth and cold, heart and mind to waken the soul.

The eyes of the Prince flew open and he burst forth from his bed, a new body for an old mind and a budding spirit. The Sleeping Prince knew the waking world and the little spirit knew life. The spirit knew immediately that the Prince was dangerous and afraid, confused by this new sensation of fear. His mind told him he faced enemies, but the spirit knew they were friends.

_Look! It is the Red Princess and the Gray Angel, the Archer too!_ thought the spirit, but the Prince only lunged for the man with the hand of lightning. _Stop! They are friends!_

The spirit received no reply as the new being was deflected and he flew, flipping and flailing clumsily through the air like a colt taking its first steps, a flying colt anyway. It was strange, having a body. Finally finding control, the being stopped sharply before the window and looked out into the night skyline of this new world. The little spirit saw beauty. The Prince saw order. Reflected in the glass before them, the prince and the spirit saw each other for the first and last time as they fused into one consciousness, becoming something entirely different.

This new being, the Vision of heart and mind, remembered nothing but wonder and descended to greet those he knew to be his friends. He wasn’t sure how he knew it, but he felt it to be right.

 

“ _I wasn’t sure how I knew it, but I felt it to be right._ And that is all I remember of my dream,” said Vision calmly. “I do not understand what I have seen.”

His audience looked at him, dumbstruck. Rhodey, Sam, Steve, Natasha, and Wanda had not stirred from their places on the rec room couch since he’d begun to tell his tale after dinner that night. That was almost an hour earlier. Vision’s first “dream,” or whatever it was an android’s mind conjured up in a resting state, had been quite the “developing story” as it were. Everyone had wanted to hear it.

“I think,” said Wanda, swallowing sadly as she recalled her hand in almost ending the world, “you were remembering the hours before your birth.”

“Or at least attempting to understand the fragments of memories by turning them into a bedtime story,” added Natasha as she stood to stretch.

“Yes, that would seem possible,” Vision agreed, “but everything was so…childish – like your fairytales. It could not have been real.”

“ _Could not have been real_ according to whose understanding of reality?” said Steve. Vision shrugged, a very human gesture he supposed. He had picked up a few of those lately.

“A child’s version of reality is different from that of an adult,” said Rhodey bemusedly.

“And face it, Vision,” Sam interjected. “ _You_ are a child.”

“I see,” Vision replied, appearing very confused. “Then, is it possible that anything I dreamt could have been real?”

“That’s a question only you can answer, Vision,” Wanda said with a growing smile. She then added in his mind: _But I don’t mind being the Red Princess to your Sleeping Prince._

Fin.


End file.
